


Not Your Year

by IntelligentAirhead



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Desert Hate, Gen, Lizard friends, Roleswap, neurodivergent characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntelligentAirhead/pseuds/IntelligentAirhead
Summary: Lance knew, theoretically, that it was his own fault that he was stuck in the back end of nowhere, living in a shack in the middle of the desert. However, he also knew he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, and could therefore be as bitter as he damn well pleased. [A Voltron Roleswap AU Wherein Lance is Kicked Out of the Garrison Instead of Keith]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinelanguage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinelanguage/gifts), [morvish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morvish/gifts).



> Please enjoy this 7K hate letter from me to the desert, born from having to live there for years. To give you an idea of the breadth of my ire: I wrote this in two days.  
> I really, really hate the desert.
> 
> Also! Heads up: since this is a rewrite of episode 1, Lance will use he/him pronouns for Pidge. I tried to limit pronoun usage as much as possible because as understandable as it is given the situation, I feel massively uncomfortable misgendering Pidge.

The first time Lance had seen the shack, he swallowed past the ‘this isn’t fair’ lodged in his throat, polished his palms, and chirped, “I can work with this,” as brightly as he could manage.

It wasn’t that the shack was a lost cause or anything. It was a bit worn around the edges, sanded down by the occasional duststorm— haboobs, as the lady who ran the general store in town called them, insisting that everyone else did too— but it had a generator, a storm shelter, and enough cinderblocks that Lance could cobble together some makeshift furniture if he wanted. As for water, all he had to do was walk the four miles into town and buy a few gallons. Theoretically, he had everything he needed. He _did_ have everything he needed! Compared to all the survival shows he’d seen on TV, he was living in the lap of luxury.

There was no reason for his throat to feel so tight while looking at a perfectly livable shack that he could squat in for free. After all, this was his choice. Even if it _was_ all Keith’s fault. Sure, Lance could have avoided the start of a beautiful relationship with ninety metric tons of sand if he’d just kept his mouth shut, like Hunk had suggested, but—

Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore. Hunk was back at the Garrison, Keith was back at the Garrison, and Lance wasn’t. That was the end of it.

Except it wasn’t, and Lance didn’t have to keep his bitterness in check because anyone who could possibly disapprove was ensconced in the arms of government property, unable to offer any criticism. Lance could be as bitter as he wanted without fearing judgement, and as terrible a compensation that was, he was going to exploit the hell out of it.

So he complained. He complained to himself, to the godforsaken sand, to whatever ghosts might be hanging around— after all, the dude who used to own the shack was long dead— and to the geckos he’d found hiding in the busted fan.

“You know, Wilbur,” he addressed the first gecko, “I keep thinking about how easy it could have been, y’know?”

Wilbur, looking disinterested, turned away and tried to go back to sleep. His brother, Orville, had already passed the heck out, which, fair, they both seemed to be nocturnal, but like that was going to stop Lance.

“Iverson would’ve caught Keith, eventually, right? And, yeah, it’d suck if Keith got expelled, but… I feel like an jerk. Jesus. But like, I’m pretty sure we’d both be better off if he had been? Keith would probably like the hermit life better, anyway. Definitely more than I do, at least.”

Lance’s only response from the geckos was a buttwiggle that he was sure had a judgemental undertone.

“Fine. Alright. Thanks.” He sat down on the futon-couch he’d sprung for— his first major purchase, though it didn’t make him feel any more adult— with a sigh. “Hell. I need to talk to humans.”

 

* * *

 

“This is the third time you’ve come in this week,” Noon observed. Apparently, she took most of the afternoon shifts at the general store. Lance had certainly never seen her work an evening.  

“Correction!” Lance said, waving his finger about like a baton while setting the groceries down with his free hand. “It’s the third time _you’ve_ seen me come in. I gotta share my beautiful face with everyone, you know. Wouldn’t do to pick favorites.”

Noon smiled. “You’re very lonely,” she said, casually dumping an ocean’s worth of salt on the open wound. “It’s alright. The desert’s a lonely place.”

“Noon,” Lance said, closing his eyes. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I’m still dating my girlfriend.”

“No, I mean, like actual confession time.”

Noon looked contemplative, cocking her head. “Alright,” she said, eventually. “It’s a slow day, and it has to be better than Mr. Fisher complaining about his succulents. Shoot.”

“I really, really hate the desert.”

Noon barked out a sudden, surprised laugh. “Oh, Lance,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll confess something too: that’s not really a secret.” She finished ringing up Lance’s groceries, grinning at the pre-wrapped sandwiches. “So I see that your plan to ‘live off the land’ didn’t go as well as you hoped.”

“Scorpions are harder to catch than you’d think,” Lance bluffed. “When I catch one, though, I’ll make sure to share some fried scorpion and cactus sauce with you.”

“I’ll pass,” Noon said, laughing. “Tried scorpion once. Not my kind of texture.”

“One day you can just let me have my fun without one-upping me, you know,” Lance said.

“Sounds boring.” Noon shook her head, then passed Lance his bag. “See you at Bingo tomorrow, Lance.”

“‘Course,” Lance responded. “Together maybe we can beat Mrs. Gomez.”

“Oh, you haven’t played with Lara yet,” Noon said. “Trust me, Mrs. Gomez doesn’t stand a chance.”

 

* * *

 

**To: circuititousreasoning@gmail.com**

**Subject: re: YOUR UTTER AND COMPLETE BETRAYAL**

_I!!!!! CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_OF ALL PEOPLE!!!! OF ALL PEOPLE YOU COULD POSSIBLY BE ON THE SAME TEAM WITH!! KEITH!!! REALLY???? KEITH!!!! D <_

_AKA THE SOLE REASON I AM LIVING IN A SHACK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DESERT!!! THE DESERT, HUNK!!! IT IS HOT AND FULL OF SAND AND IT’S MAKIGN ME HATE CACTUSES!! AND YES I KNOW IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE CACTI BUT I REFUSE TO CALL THEM THAT OUT OF SPITE! IT’S A STATEMENT! LIKE YOU CHOOSING KEITH’S SIDE IN MY TIME OF NEED!!!_

_THANKS A LOT HUNK!!!! I HOPE YOU HAVE FUN WITH YOUR NEW BEST FRIEND ) <_

 

* * *

 

The fact that people lived in the desert was a testament to man’s hubris. Lance decided as much the minute he had to stand on his futon-couch, frantically googling the lifespan of a scorpion while glancing frantically between his right shoe, now home to a baby scorpion, and the screen of his phone. As a plus, the search was using up all his data for the month because his modem chose the worst time in the world to die without even a dramatic explosion as a farewell.

Matters only worsened around hour three of scorpiongate. Apparently lacking any and all survival instincts, Orville began to make his way over to the shoe, sniffing at it with no fear of death in his eyes.

“Orville,” Lance hissed. “Orville, no! Save yourself! You’re too young to die like this!” He looked around desperately for sign of Wilbur, eventually spotting him on top of the mini-fridge. “Wilbur! C’mon! What kind of brother are you? Save Orville from his arrogance!”

Wilbur looked unimpressed, even as his brother marched ever closer towards the embodiment of painful death itself.

Lance could do nothing but watch as Orville disappeared into the shoe. Could the desert do nothing but take and take and take until he had nothing left? Not his morning routine, not his hot showers, not his geckos, nothing! He was left with nothing but the smell of dust and sweat because he couldn’t move once in five hours without being coated in a metric ton of both! He used to smell good! He used to have people around him who cared about him! He used to not have to worry about goddamned scorpions sitting in his shoes and killing his gecko friends!

Lance was on the edge of tears when he spotted movement from the shoe once more. He had determined right then and there that he would avenge Orville when the gecko’s head appeared, smugly munching away at the scorpion.

“Oh my god,” Lance said, staring down at Orville. “You’re a hero, buddy!”

Orville didn’t seem to care much about his newfound status as savior of the desert, but Lance knew that in his heart he was honored. Probably.

His hero title lasted up until he pooped up scorpion bits on the table.

The desert sucked.

 

* * *

 

**To: Julieta.McClain@gmail.com**

**Subject: re:Parent’s Weekend**

_Sorry for answering so late but ever since the trouble with everyone’s school emails going haywire I’ve been having trouble accessing mine. That’s why I’m messaging you from my old email right now._

_So the thing is that I don’t think coming down would be such a good idea idea. Iverson scheduled a bunch of drills for that weekend. I think he hates families as a general concept. You’d barely get to see me or Hunk aka your favorite children which would suck considering how long it takes to get here._

_Speaking of Hunk I think our new comms officer likes them more than me but no one can resist friendship for long. We’re gonna be bros. Also Hunk might have developed a nutmeg allergy but I’m not sure. Don’t worry we didn’t figure that out through trial and error. Hunk’s fine._

_Also this might sound weird but can you attach some photos of the ocean or clouds or rain to the next email? I know I can look up pics on the internet but it’s not the same as home._

_Love you, Mamá._

 

* * *

 

Poking around the nearby caves had seemed like a good way to kill time, all the way up until Lance tried to get a closer look at the cave drawings, which immediately started glowing. And then, of course, because Lance could never just get happy glowy blue symbols in his life without the earth literally crumbling beneath him, he fell through the floor of the tunnel.

There was a split second where Lance was sure he was lying in a gigantic pool of his own blood before he realised that the fluid was cold, he didn’t feel all that injured, and there was way, way too much of it for it to be any kind of bodily emission. Except vomit, maybe. Lance winced. Why did his brain always have to go there? Disgusting.

Speaking of disgusting, whatever the fluid was, it was going to make walking a nightmare. Wet socks killed feet; the texture was terrible, and Lance’s self-care supplies were tragically limited as a result of living in the middle of nowhere.

Finally, it registered that Lance was sitting in water, which, score! The gallons he bought from the store ran about three dollars a pop, and Lance wasn’t made of money. Whether or not the water he was sitting in was potable could be called into question, but also: free water! Lance could buy a filter if he needed to.

Considering the overwhelming joy of finding a literal oasis in the desert, it was completely understandable that Lance didn’t register the gigantic robotic lion until the last possible second. There’s only so long that a person can be unaware of a bright blue lion the size of an office building, but Lance prided himself on being able to focus on things in order of importance. Usually. On good days.

That said, he probably still should have spotted the lion first. After all, the lion had certainly spotted him.

Lance scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off, and wincing when he felt wet denim against his legs. Hell. Still, even the gross sensory input couldn’t distract him from the way the lion’s eyes— blank and yellow as headlights without power, but watchful as a wary cat— seemed to follow him as he moved across the cavern. The fact that it was enveloped in a gigantic, glowy blue bubble didn’t help make it less unnerving, but it also didn’t make it any less cool.

He stopped a few feet in front of the bubble, then shuffled his feet. “Uh. Huh.” He said, staring up at it. Then, he did what he always did when he had no clue how to navigate a situation.

He talked.

“Okay, just for the record, this is the coolest thing that has ever happened to me. I honestly don’t care if I’m about to get shot for stumbling across a secret base because this is way cooler than anything I could have possibly imagined.”

Lance paused, then backtracked. “That is to say, if any government employees are listening, this was totally an accident, and also please don’t shoot me. I have a lot to live for.” Probably.

He waited a second. He wasn’t shot.

After a good ten seconds of waiting to be used as target practice, Lance stared back up at the lion, interest unabashedly piqued now that there wasn’t any impending sense of doom. “You know,” he started, “I used to have this really big cat. His name was Moose, and he hated, and I mean _hated,_ cat carriers. Any small place, really, which is weird for a cat. I mean, being one yourself, even if you’re a giant lion instead of a housecat, you probably know that.”

Lance tried to shove his hands in his pockets, then cringed at the texture. “But I can’t help feeling that you’re like Moose. I’m not feeling that much love for the bubble here.”

Lance waited. The lion didn’t respond.

“Alright,” Lance said. “I didn’t take you for the quiet type, but I get needing your beauty sleep. At least you’ve got lots of ambient noise down here! Really nice to get you in the mood for snoozing.” He patted the bubble in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.

Which, of course, is what made things go to hell in a handbasket. One second, Lance had his hand outstretched. The next, he was drawing back as if stung, the bubble glowing bright, and the lion’s eyes flashing beneath it, like cracking a glowstick at the bottom of a pool.

Then the bubble was gone, and Lance’s mind was awash with a presence that hadn’t been there before, an image clear in his mind’s eye of the lion flying into the sky with four others. The lions coalesced into a single being, a gigantic robot. With a huge, awesome flaming sword. Holy crow.

As the image faded, Lance stumbled back. “Whoa,” he said. He stared back up at the lion— no, Blue.

“Whoa,” he repeated. Then, a slow, easy grin spread across his face.

 

* * *

 

After that, Lance split his days pretty evenly between visiting the town and visiting Blue.

Lance would sit in the cockpit for hours, listening to Blue purr. He’d ask questions or tell stories, sometimes aloud, more often in the comfort of his own head. It was disconcertingly easy to just roll with the psychic lion thing, which probably meant Lance was lonelier than he’d first thought.

At that thought, Blue had given him a sympathetic nudge, a wave of warm understanding, followed by the cold edge of a memory, a timeless span of waiting, the only changes appearing in the shape of the caverns as water weathered them over time.

Lance let the thoughts seep in for a moment, then sighed. “Why didn’t you ever leave, Blue?” he asked.

Blue didn’t answer for a moment. Then, she brought one of Lance’s memories to the surface.

“Don’t tell my parents,” memory-Lance pleaded. “They can’t know I got kicked out, okay? They’re proud of me, and they— Listen. They can’t know.”

“They’ll find out eventually,” the memory of the counselor warned.

“I’ll figure something out by then,” the memory echoed. “I just— I can’t disappoint them.”

Lance jolted. “Blue?” He asked. “That’s— uh, buddy. Buddy, can we not dig into that, maybe?”

Blue transmitted something like an apology, but sternly replayed the last phrase again. “I can’t disappoint them.”

“Oh,” Lance said, discomfort still present, but fading. “You have people you have to make proud too, huh, girl?” He asked, turning over the idea.

Blue purred.

 

* * *

 

**To: circuititousreasoning@gmail.com**

**Subject: Selfies with Blue**

_I hope you know how awkward it is to ask your new robot lion friend if you can take pictures of their hydraulics system because your best friend WON’T BELIEVE YOU OTHERWISE!! Anyway because i’m a great person and a good friend i did it anyway so here’re some pics of my beautiful face next to Blue (^3^) ~ <3\. Also i got tired of renaming the pics like halfway through so just insert some stroke of genius for the ones that are just IMG_number-something. _

_Tell Pidge i said hi and that he’s short. Tell Keith i hate him and that he’s short._

_P.S. This should be obvious but please don’t tell anyone about Blue PLEASE HUNK it’s important TT_TT_

**Attached:** Cool_cat.png, Do_you_even_lift.png, Bernoulli_more_like_BURNoulli.png, **and 15 other attachments.**

 

* * *

 

“When are you going to let yourself leave?” Lance asked one day.

He’d asked Noon the same question earlier. She'd laughed and said, “I could ask you the same question, Radioshack.”

Blue’s response was different though. Blue always batted at questions like they were skeins of yarn, unravelling it until the insides were bared. It was mortifying, like watching someone read his diary, but with the anticipatory undertone of having his full permission. Spending time with Blue was like a never ending game of truth or dare with no holds barred.

Even after all that time considering, however, the only thing Blue answered with was, “Not yet. Not alone. Soon.”

 

* * *

 

Lance and Lara enjoyed a sacred, weekly ritual of not-bugging Noon at work. It involved a lot of playing Old Maid just out of sight, between the cereal aisle and the storefront. It was enough to let Noon know that she was missing out on the fun, but not enough to actually get in the way of her work. Especially not on Tuesday afternoons.

Although, it _was_ enough to annoy the heck out of her. “If you two have enough time to hang around here, you have enough time to get your own jobs,” Noon chided.

“But Noonie,” Lara said, grinning, “loving you is a full-time job.”

“Nice one,” Lance commended.

“Stop,” Noon said, rolling her eyes. She was smiling, though, so it was probably Lara’s win. “I never should have introduced you to each other. You just keep making each other worse.”

“You mean better,” Lance said.

“I know what I said.” Noon shook her head. “Seriously, though.” She sobered. “I’m serious about the job thing, Radioshack. We’re all kind of worried about you, all holed up in that overglorified lean-to. I’m sure you could get a job down at the diner or something. Maybe afford to actually move into town?”

“Well, I do have the face for good tips,” Lance blustered, trying to cover up his surprise. For all that he enjoyed hanging around town, he hadn’t thought that people actually… well, liked having him around.

“Think about it,” Lara said, patting him on the back.

 

* * *

 

Even for Lance knowing how straightforward Blue was, he didn’t expect, “soon,” to mean that Blue was set to take him on a joyride in the middle of the night without warning. He especially wasn’t expecting it the night before his first interview since the Garrison. Then again, he wasn’t going to complain. He’d missed flying too much, and if anything was evident three seconds after takeoff, it was that both Lance and Blue loved to fly.

Two seconds after that, it also became evident that Blue was on a mission, and nothing Lance did would dissuade her. Miles of desert whizzed underneath them within milliseconds, and every breath Lance hissed through clenched teeth brought them closer to some nameless destination.

For all that Blue felt like she could fly forever, brimming with energy built up over centuries, she came to an abrupt stop at the mouth of a valley. “Here,” she communicated, purring with self-assurance.

Almost unconsciously, Lance mirrored her, a confident smile overtaking his features, despite him having no idea what their task was. Whatever it was, he and Blue could handle it. “Alright, alright. I’ll bite. What are we doing here?”

“Not waiting,” she communicated, still smug.

“You’re hilarious.”

Blue purred for a moment more, and then her interface lit up. All at once, the screen zoomed in, closer and closer until the very center of the valley was visible. There, a circular building that looked very official and government-y was set up. Outside stood a ship— some model Lance had never seen before. A fully armed perimeter stood outside, but it looked like they were guarding the ship more than the temporary building.

It wasn’t the guard that Blue seemed to be preoccupied with, though. The camera kept focusing and refocusing on the building, and something like a growl built up in the back of Lance’s mind.

“You alright, Blue?”

In response, Blue pushed a memory at him. “I’m not feeling that much love for the bubble here,” memory Lance said, staring up at her from so, so far away.

“Oh, so it’s a problem with the shape? I can understand—”

Blue pushed a wave of negation at him, then pulled back. Trying again, she sent him another memory of the same conversation.

Once again, Lance found himself in the weird position of watching himself through a blue distortion. “—he hated, and I mean _hated,_ cat carriers,” memory Lance said.

“Wait, hold up!” Lance raised his arms. “Someone’s being held in there?”

The feeling of indignation on someone else’s behalf that Blue sent was confirmation enough. “Wait,” Lance said. “So you want us to, what, bust them out? Blue, that’s a little—”

Blue didn’t let him finish the sentence before a wave of disappointment hit Lance like a freight train.

“You _know_ I’m already on the government’s shitlist,” Lance whined, leaning back in the seat.

The emotion didn’t let up.

“I have a job interview tomorrow, Blue! I have to wake up early, and— Listen, I’m not doing it!”

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Lance said, sneaking into the building. “I’m a criminal! A criminal. Who’s gonna tell my nieces and nephews that the reason they can’t visit Lancey Lance anymore is because he’s in jail for listening to a lion’s take on morals? No one! Because I’ll be in jail in Area fifty-freaking-one!”

For all of Lance’s complaining, he was pretty proud of himself. It turned out that a wall of ice appearing instantaneously a good five hundred meters away would work to lure out most scientists _and_ conspiracy theorist army men. He wasn’t going to question how the heck Blue could do that, considering she was already a super powerful, giant, robot lion, but it was super cool. Pun intended. God, he was hilarious.

He did, however, question how he was going to deal with the people still inside the building. It wasn’t a question he had to consider long.

The second Lance stepped into the room, he froze, eyes fixed on the last two people he ever expected to see. “Keith? _Shiro_?” He blinked. “Wait, was Shiro the one being— You’re holding him, so, yeah, probably, but— Hey! I’m saving Shiro!”

Keith stared at him blankly, adjusting the way Shiro’s dead weight rested on his shoulders. “Who are you?”

Lance felt his mouth open, then screwed up his face as he went to go lift Shiro’s other side. “No. No, no, no, we are _not_ doing this. I can’t believe I have to explain to _you_ , of all people, who I am! Who I am, as if! No!” He gritted his teeth. “The name’s Lance,” he bit out. “Ring any bells? We were in the same class together!”

“Were you an engineer?”

“ _You cannot be serious_!” Lance said, his volume escalating with every word. “I’m the reason you’re still at the Garrison, and you don’t even—”

“ _Lance?_ ” Hunk and some kid who came up to their shoulder stood at the door, as if Lance’s night couldn’t get any more surreal.

“What are you doing here?” The kid asked.

“Saving Shiro, apparently,” Lance said, gesturing at the man he’d thought was dead until a few seconds ago. “Looks like it’s a popular hobby these days.”

“Wait, this is _that_ Lance?” Keith asked, staring as if someone just told him Lance was genetically identical to a jar of grape jelly.

“This is _what_ Lance?” Lance asked, staring down Hunk.

Hunk put up their hands. “Listen, I didn’t tell any stories about you that you wouldn’t tell about yourself.”

Which was the opposite of reassuring because Lance always regretted sharing _any_ stories about himself, immediately! It never occurred to him to stop telling those stories because usually they at least netted him friends, but still!

“You really spread the rumor that you broke into Iverson’s office instead of me just so you would look cool?” Keith asked.

“ _Thanks_ , Hunk!”

“So it is true,” the kid observed.

“Who even are you?” Lance asked. “I don’t recognize you, and I tend to have a better memory than _Keith_ , at least.

“I’m Pidge. Pretty sure Hunk told you about me. I’m their comms specialist.” Pidge waved at the space between Hunk and Keith.

Hunk sighed. “Comms specialist, conspiracy theorist, hacker. Pidge has some pretty broad job specs.”

“Right, you mentioned that once,” Lance said, searching back through his memory. “Didn’t you say that putting Keith and Pidge together was like watching a conspiracy theory forum gain sentience or something?”

“Okay, Lance,” Hunk started, their voice heavy with the gravity that only someone given the space to let some quality complaining loose could manage, “you do not know how much stress has been on my fragile heart every five seconds for the past year. It’s like herding cats! Paranoid, angry cats that run off into the desert at a moment’s notice because they saw an alien ship!”

“We were right, though!’ Keith defended, jabbing his head towards Shiro.

“Okay, but like, being right doesn’t preclude my point that a giant ice wall popped into existence without warning _or_ regard for the laws of thermodynamics! Or that it could happen again! Which, would you know, kill us!” Hunk said, their voice strained with anxiety. It was too familiar to focus on, especially aimed at Keith, so Lance did what he did best and bottled that shit up before shifting his attention.

“Oh,” Lance started, clearing his throat. “Oh,” he repeated, then smirked. “Don’t worry about that. The ice thing is the least of our worries.” He waited a second. “We can keep a cool head about the situation.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Hunk groaned. Now that was familiar ground.

“Why do you say that?” Pidge asked, squinting.

“Because I happen to be good friends with the source of the ice. She’s actually a pretty—”

“There are only so many times you can use the same pun before it shoots straight past terrible and runs straight into obnoxious,” Hunk warned.

“—cool cat,” Lance finished triumphantly.

“What are you talking about?” Keith asked.

“Blue, duh.”

“Blue?” Pidge asked, staring at Lance as if he was speaking Quebecois.

Lance turned to Hunk. “You… didn’t tell them?”

“You told me not to!” Hunk said, crossing their arms. “You put a little crying face on the end and everything!”

Swallowing past the genuine emotion in his throat, Lance suppressed the urge to go in for a hug. It wasn’t the best idea when he was carrying an unconscious, presumed-dead, missing person. “Thanks, buddy,” he said.

Keith shuffled his weight, jostling Shiro and Lance in the process. “Can we maybe get out of here before continuing the lovefest?” He asked.

Which was a fair statement, but also, being a suggestion from Keith, was worth nothing. Unfortunately, no one else seemed to agree.

Hunk started moving towards the door, Pidge not close behind. Before Keith and Lance had even started walking, though, Pidge turned back, eyes narrowed.

“What does blue have to do with anything?”

“Blue’s my awesome giant robot lion friend that flies,” Lance said.

Pidge gave him a look flatter than the top of a mesa, then turned to Hunk. “What does blue have to do with anything.”

“Blue’s the name of Lance’s giant robot that flies,” Hunk repeated. “I’m pretty sure he stole her from a secret military base, but he won’t admit it.”

“I didn’t steal her!” Lance exclaimed, indignant.

“Yeah, but I’m not really seeing a reason to believe you,” Hunk said.

“How about, one, I’d admit it if I broke into a military base because that sounds really cool. And two, I’m not a morally bankrupt person, like, I don’t know, someone who joined the team of my greatest rival,” Lance said.

“Oh my god, are you really still doing this?” Hunk asked, and yeah, by then Lance had mostly gotten over it and figured out that if he hadn’t wanted to one-up Keith so much, he wouldn’t have gotten kicked out of the Garrison; however, some wounds cut too deep to heal through force of logic alone, and Keith stealing both Lance’s slot in the garrison _and_ his best friend was one of them.

“What?” Keith asked, looking across Shiro at Lance. “You don’t even know Pidge.”

“Not— No!” Lance spluttered. “You! We were rivals! Lance and Keith, neck and neck?”

Keith looked at him, bewildered. “You were a cargo pilot,” he said, but the worst thing was the way he said it. It wasn’t an insult; it was stated as a fact, a simple negation. They were never neck and neck.

But fuck it. They weren’t at the Garrison anymore, Lance had a flying blue lion, and Keith didn’t. In the real world pilot hierarchy, that clearly made Lance superior.

“Yeah,” Lance said, smile tight, “I was. Emphasis on was. And now I’m the guy who’s going to get us out of here.”

 

* * *

 

Lance wasn’t sure where Blue was going to take them next, but he sure as heck wasn’t expecting her to take them back to Lance’s shack.

“Okay, fair warning before we go inside: I haven’t tidied up in a while, so everything’s a little cluttered,” Lance said.

Hunk didn’t look up from where they were resting their head between their knees. “Am I still alive? I feel like I shouldn’t be alive.”

“And I thought Keith’s flying was terrifying,” Pidge said. “I owe you five bucks, Hunk.”

Lance bristled. “Don’t be mean to Blue!”

“They’re not,” Keith said. “They’re being mean to you.”

Lance glared at him, then patted the wall. “Nah, that was 100% pure Blue. She hasn’t let me take control yet; girl’s too excited about flying.”

“Good match, huh?” Hunk said.

“Yeah,” Lance said, hand still splayed against the wall. “Yeah, really good.”

Keith alone held back as everyone started to disembark, and there was no way Lance was leaving him alone in Blue.

“Uh, Earth to Keith? Miss the memo? It’s debarkation time.”

“How did you find this?” Keith asked, subtle and diplomatic as a brick in a sock.

“Blue? She kind of found me,” Lance said.

Blue purred in response, but it didn’t look like Keith could hear her. Lance felt inordinately pleased about that.

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean,” Lance interrupted. “I don’t want to explain myself fifty times though, so I’ll explain after Shiro wakes up.

Keith’s jaw locked, if only for a second, and then he deflated. “Alright,” he conceded, to Lance’s shock. “Later, then.”

“Yeah,” Lance said, still trying to figure out what just happened even as Keith moved to pick Shiro back up again. “Later.”

 

* * *

 

“Aw, it’s a little snow globe! And it has a rainforest inside!”

“ _Hunk_!” Lance felt his face heat up as he took back the snowglobe. “I take it all back. I didn’t miss you at all, and— Hunk, stop touching my stuff!”

“Nah, you love me,” Hunk said, ruffling Lance’s hair and continuing to mess with his stuff. “Why do you have a shoe on the knick knack shelf?”

“It symbolizes a dark time in my life! I only survived because of a brave friend’s sacrifice!”

“I think I almost stepped on a gecko,” Pidge said, alarmed.

“Orville didn’t almost die for this!” Lance wailed.

“Who’s Orville?” Keith asked, looking interested despite himself. “I thought you lived alone.”

Lance crossed his arms. “No! That would be sad.” He sniffed. “I live with two geckos, Orville and Wilbur.”

Hunk groaned. “Really? _Really_? You went with the Wright brothers?”

“They were living in a fan! It’s a propellor; it fits.”

“You could have gone with anything, Lance. Sally Ride and Valentina Tereshkova, Shannon and Boole, Ressel and—”

“Okay, except I’m not a nerd, algebra has nothing to do with this, so you can turn that Boole into a boo, and they’re _my_ geckos!” Lance scrunched up his face. “I thought I’d told you about them before.”

“Uh, no, which was really rude of you. I tell you everything,” Hunk said.

“Oh yeah! I was giving you the silent treatment because of Keith. Also, my wifi modem died.”

Keith gave him a bewildered look, bringing Lance’s attention to the fact! That Keith was holding Wilbur! Which was illegal! “What are you doing?!”

“Uh,” Keith started, eyebrows knit together. “Petting the gecko?”

“In my own home!”

“Is he always like this?” Pidge asked Hunk, who shrugged in answer.

Before Hunk or Lance could answer Pidge’s question more thoroughly, they were interrupted by a low groan from the couch. Then, Shiro was up like a shot, looking around at them with pupils blown wide. “Wh— What?”

Lance put up his hands, showing they were empty. Everyone else tried to do the same— all, except Keith, looking between Shiro and the lizard still in his hands.

“It’s— I have a gecko,” Keith said. “It’s not a weapon.”

“Keith?” Shiro asked. “Why are you—” He looked about as confused as it was possible to be. “Where are we?”

“It’s a long story,” Keith said, bending down to set Wilbur on the floor. “But probably not as long as yours.

Lance grudgingly let his opinion of Keith raise by a single fraction of a degree, if only because he didn’t drop Wilbur like a hot potato the second Shiro woke up. Except any decent person would have done the same, so Lance was being generous.

“No kidding,” Hunk said. “I mean, your story’s like a year long.”

Shiro looked lost. “A year? I…” He trailed off, then sank back onto the couch.

Lance felt tired just looking at him. “Do you need some space?”

Shiro laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Had enough of that,” he said, then shook his head. “No. Yes, actually, some fresh air would— I’d appreciate that.”

“It’s the desert, so I don’t know about fresh, but…” Lance forced himself to stop talking. “Sorry, anyway. My front yard is your front yard. Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Shiro said, nodding. Then, he was gone, and the room was silent.

“Fuck,” Pidge said.

 

* * *

 

 If there was a record for world's worst ideas, Pidge and Hunk would have broken it by leaving Keith and Lance alone to go look at Blue.

“Let me get this straight. You didn’t record the GPS coordinates for the caves,” Keith said, staring at Lance.

“Nope,” Lance said, popping the sound. He looked pointedly in the opposite direction, which gave him a pretty nice view of the knick knack shelf.

“You didn’t take pictures of the cave drawings.”

Lance shrugged. “I took a few selfies and sent them to Hunk, but not really.”

“Did you— Did you do _anything_ aside from just sitting in the lion?” Keith asked, crossing his arms. “You didn’t ask it where it came from? Nothing?”

“Of course I asked _her_ ,” Lance said, emphasizing the pronoun. “But she wouldn’t tell me much! She said something about not being alone, and incomplete knowledge, but it’s hard to communicate in sentences and things when you’re a giant psychic robot lion! We did our best.”

“She sure doesn’t seem like she has a hard time communicating,” Keith said, leaning back in his chair.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Keith shrugged. “She’s giving off waves of— I don’t know. Some kind of energy? I’ve felt it around here before when I took my speeder out for a ride.”

Lance spluttered. “You! You can’t just go around feeling energy around other people’s houses!”

“Why not?”

“It’s rude!” Lance said, unable to think of anything else. “And disrespectful! Apologize to Blue!”

“For feeling energy?”

“Yes!”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You know what? I’m going to check on Shiro. Great talk.” He stood up from his seat and headed towards the door.

“Because you’d know a good talk if you heard one!” Lance fired back. The only response was the sound of the door shutting.

 

* * *

 

Shiro, still not looking his best, but better, nodded to himself. “So, Blue wanted us all together?”

“Sounds like it,” Lance confirmed. “Every time I pop in to check on her, she basically— okay, so, she basically asks how everyone’s doing, and when I say you’re feeling better she does the mental equivalent of taking me by the shoulders and going, ‘okay, so why aren’t you all ready to leave yet?’ So that’s a thing.” A concerning thing.

“So she wants to show us something,” Shiro concluded.

"Yeah," Lance answered. "Probably something to do with-- you called it Voltron, right?"

Shiro nodded. “Why don’t we let her, then?”

Lance made a noise of protest that he thought was pretty quiet. By the looks on everyone’s faces, it wasn’t. “Thing is, last time I went with Blue on a joyride, I ended up on an allnight jailbreak expedition to spring Shiro. Which was great! I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

“But, still. I can’t help thinking that Blue’s gearing up for a long, long trip.” It was in the way Blue’s thoughts crashed down like waves the longer they waited, anticipation bubbling up. “And I— Look, I hate to be that guy. The one who’s like, ‘oh, I hate the desert,’ and then lives there for the rest of his life, but… I have a job interview scheduled today!” Lance finished. “I’m practically a pillar of the community at this point. I’ve beaten Mrs. Gomez at Bingo three times in a row this month! How am I supposed to give that old lady a chance at reclaiming her dignity if I just up and leave! That’ll be on her mind for the rest of her life!”

“Lance,” Hunk said, “I get where you’re coming from.”

“I knew you would, bud—”

“But I think you’re wrong here.”

Lance gaped at Hunk as they continued.

“Look. I’ve been with Keith and Pidge for almost a year now, and although the experience has almost given me like eighty heart attacks, it’s also taught me that sometimes you need to take action.” Hunk worried their lip. “Otherwise people get hurt. You saw what almost happened, with Shiro tied up. That’s— That’s not right, Lance. And if Blue wants us to fix something broken… maybe we should at least take a look?”

Lance looked at Hunk for a long time, then sighed. “When did you go off and grow up without me? What the heck? That’s not fair.” He stepped forward to rest his head against Hunk.

“One of us has to be the adult, you know,” Hunk said, patting him on the back.

“Alright, that was touching,” Pidge said. “Can we get back to the whole people need our help, let’s board the lion thing now? Because I want to get back to that.”

“Is he always like that?” Lance muttered into Hunk’s shoulder.

Hunk shifted uncomfortably. “Pidge has reasons… which I’ll let Pidge explain. Not my story to tell. Sorry.”

“Urgh, fine.” Lance sighed, then straightened. “I’ll skip out on my interview. How long can we be gone, anyway?”

“Don’t jinx it,” Shiro said, a wry smile on his face. He looked around the room. “Anything we should take with us, just in case?”

“Well, it’s not like the geckos can come with,” Lance said, “and I already have a spare stash of hair and body products in Blue. Oh, and my meds, I guess. They don’t keep well in the desert. Go figure. So I’m all packed up.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hunk said. “Where’s your medkit? We’re gonna need one. Rations, too.”

“Right,” Lance said, dragging out the sound. “So, the thing is, I usually get groceries on Thursdays. You know. Today. So, yeah. No rations.”

“What about the medkit, then?” Hunk asked, eyes narrowing.

Lance flashed what he hoped was his most winning smile. “I… don’t have one?”

“ _Lance_.”

“Listen! It’s fine!”

“‘It’s fine,’ he says, as if he didn’t have a chance of dying in the desert without any chance of letting his best friend know what happened! It’s fine!” Hunk flopped over on the couch like a sad mountain dog. “My hair is going to turn white from stress.”

“Beat you to it,” Shiro said, eyebrow raised.

“Ah, right,” Hunk said, “well. I mean.”

Shiro snorted. “Alright. Now that that’s settled: let’s board the lion.”

In the end, the hardest part of leaving was saying goodbye. Orville and Wilbur would be fine; he’d never had to feed them, considering they did a pretty good job of hunting insects on their own. They were wild geckos, after all. Still, they’d stuck by him for almost an entire year.

At the very least, Lance thought, still sniffling a little, he’d be back soon. No matter what Blue’s thoughts felt like, it couldn’t be too long of a trip.

He’d worked too hard to carve out a home for that.

 

* * *

 

_[Excerpt taken from The Daily Duster]_

 

  **Former Cadet Still Missing**

 

_[...] police are hesitant to connect the disappearance of local Lance McClain to the disappearance of three unnamed Galaxy Garrison cadets. “The timing of when they were last seen matches up,” one anonymous source said, “but I don’t see how they could have all up and vanished at the same time. McClain’s shack is way out [in the middle of] nowhere. It’s nowhere close to the Garrison.”_

_Little evidence connecting the disappearances exists, though the strongest evidence would be McClain’s former ties to the Galaxy Garrison._

_“He was open about it,” local resident and friend of McClain, Noon Shadid said. “He said he’d messed up and spread some rumors to look like a badass, and in return for a confession and voluntary withdrawal from the program, he’d get enough of a pension to get him back on his feet, and they wouldn’t tell his parents right away. Though, I guess that’s a moot point now.”_

_At the time of publication, Julieta and Albert McClain declined to be interviewed._

 

 

_[Advertisement taken from The Daily Duster]_

 

**Bingo at The Ballroom!**

**5 PM- 8 PM, Wednesdays**

**Entry Fee: $3.00**

 

_Bring your whole family for a weekly night of fun!_

_All proceeds will go directly to the Desert Rescue Fund in memory of Lance McClain._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to Caim, whose geckos are relentlessly pooping on things, Alex, who knows how newspaper articles should look, Mickey and Frey, who started all this, and Stella, who beta-read this in the middle of editing the sixth chapter of our co-written fake-married klance fic, that I will shamelessly self-promote [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7892101/chapters/18026593)
> 
> Also, the title's from the song Not Your Year by The Weepies


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